


Waiting For the Next Creation

by sinuous_curve



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinuous_curve/pseuds/sinuous_curve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>For his part, Dom does whatever he needs to do to be right with God in the morning, and Brian doesn't really give a shit what it takes. It's all the same to him, because now it all boils down to skin and sweat and come and when the lights are out and they're alone in bed he can't tell where he stops and Dom begins.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting For the Next Creation

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet, unbeta-ed. I'm just going to go ahead and say this is probably ' fault.

When they get back to the house at the end of the day, sweaty from work in the garage and dusty from driving down the highway with the windows of their cars open, Brian and Dom skip past the kitchen and head for their bedroom. It's a little frantic and a little funny, but they always end up in bed first and everything else has to wait a little.

 

They take their time in a way that still feels like an indulgence, even though there's no one around to walk in, no one to need something or want something, and no constant, clawing sense that any moment they take for themselves is one stolen. Their freedom came with a steep price tag and Brian, at least, has no regrets about anything he could have changed.

 

For his part, Dom does whatever he needs to do to be right with God in the morning, and Brian doesn't really give a shit what it takes. It's all the same to him, because now it all boils down to skin and sweat and come and when the lights are out and they're alone in bed he can't tell where he stops and Dom begins. If he felt like he was missing something, maybe it would matter. But he doesn't, so it can't matter; it's a minor miracle they got to where they are in the first place. Brian isn't going to test the strength of Dom's internal peace for the sake of some pop psych bullshit. Sometimes it can just be about two people.

 

Sometimes Brian wonders why it doesn't feel like a kind of denial when they bump up against the limitations of what Dom will and won't do, because Dom has always couched it in terms of willingness rather than ability. Brian can see the shape of how it might have struck him that way, once, when the friction between them first took that turn toward where they are. It was a hunted kind of connection in those days, where they tripped through the dark toward each other and collided with frantic hands and mouths that left teeth marks more often than not. There wasn't a lot of room for consideration when it took that much effort to keep from coming at the first touch.

 

But they're not a do-it-in-the-dark thing anymore. They fuck with the lights on sometimes and they fuck in the bright, late-afternoon sunshine with wind coming up salt-tinged from the water through the big bedroom windows. If he had to explain, and Brian doubts that'll ever happen because everyone is happy for the first time in a long time and no one wants to push too hard at the foundations, it'd be that he doesn't feel denied with Dom. When they're laying in bed with the blankets shoved to the floor Dom really _looks_ at him and smiles and Brian would laugh, a little, at anyone who suggested Dom wished he saw someone else.

 

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Dom asks, palm pressed to Brian's belly between the bottom of his ribs and his navel. The calluses on Dom's palms haven't softened now that they've carved out a chunk of paradise. Their twenty million, plus Mia's ten, bought the property on the beach and the houses, and Dom's new garage with DT emblazoned on the front. He'd wanted it to say Toretto, but Mia had laughed at that and said if he was going to make it that easy to be tracked down, she was taking herself to Russia and they could all go fuck themselves.

 

He mostly does tune ups and oil changes and every now and then, on a busy day, he'll end up rotating someone's tires. The cash it brings is a pittance compared to the numbers they've got in off-shore accounts (and being able to say he _has_ an off-shore account makes Brian feel more like a criminal than any of the shooting, stealing, and prison breaking ever did), but it keeps them both occupied. And twenty million's bought a lot of very shiny toys for them to play with during the lulls.

 

Brian shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, touching his knuckles to Dom's chin.

 

Dom snorts, shifting onto his side. The sun's just barely begun to set and there's plenty of light still pouring into their bedroom. It's taken on a deeper cast in shades of red and faint purple. The white walls they haven't gotten around to painting yet look a little like they're on fire, with the curtain's tossing casting shifting, undulating shadows. He pushes his thigh over Brian's in one of the unthinkingly affectionate gestures he has. It's a little fiercely possessive, but Brian likes it. He doesn't ever really feel trapped with Dom, either.

 

"You're full of shit," Dom says, propping his head up on one arm. The twine bracelet Brian gave him slips up his arm a little and Brian can see the very faint demarcation between tanned skin and the paler band around his wrist. "What are you thinking?"

 

"If I said, fuck this, let's go to Moscow tomorrow, would you do it?" Brian asks, rolling his head to the side so he can really _look_ at Dom. They're both bare-ass naked on the mattress, because the sheets didn't survive their harried shove to get shit out of the way so they could get at each other. Dom's never been self-conscious about his body, and Brian will always appreciate the opportunity to let his eyes roam over the lines of Dom's solid bulk.

 

Dom arches an eyebrow. "You tired of paradise already?"

 

"No." Brian shakes his head. "Just curious."

 

The look in Dom's eyes settles somewhere between slightly indulgently amusement and skepticism that says he's not buying what Brian is selling. "Starting over's a pain in the ass, but we can afford it. Why not?" The we sends a little wash of comforting thrill down Brian's spine; it's as close as they ever get to admissions of feelings, but it works for them.

 

"I don't want to go to Russia," Brian says, then yawns.

 

The way Dom looks at him has changed since they got out of Rio, now that they have actual time instead of respites to stop and breathe between jobs and finding the next place to run to when things get claustrophobic. Most of the time it feels like Dom has been a constant gravitational pull, thanks to Mia for that metaphor, for as long as Brian can remember. In the early days of their living in the house, Brian once stopped and counted out roughly how much time he and Dom had actually spent in the same place at the same time. The number came up so small Brian had to add it all up again to check, but the total remained the same. Brian supposes it's that there's normal gravity and the kind of pull a black hole exerts. There's really nothing to be done when it comes to him and Dom.

 

Dom drops his head back down to the pillow and slides his fingers through the mess of Brian's hair. "Good, it's fucking cold in Russia."

 

For a moment they lapse into easy silence while Dom threads his fingers in and out of Brian's unruly hair. It's grown out long, since the nearest barber is a hell of a hike away and he hasn't yet gotten to the point where he'll let Mia take her kitchen scissors to it. She has a lot of talents, but beautician isn't among them. And besides, he likes the little fascination Dom has with his hair, the way he tugs on it and plays with it. Maybe it's from having been voluntarily bald for the better part of his life, Brian doesn't know. He doesn't really care.

 

Brian opens his eyes when Dom's hand settles curved around the back of his skull. The weight of his fingers is pleasant and warm and Dom keeps up a short, sweeping stroke of his thumb over the little protruding knot of bone beneath Brian's skin. Dom found the irregularity in the early days of their thing, when they communicated through touch and short, punctuated gasps alone. It's another little thing he seems to find fascinating about Brian, among the imperfections Brian has never noticed or cared about in himself.

 

"What?" Brian murmurs. The easy tide of lassitude settles in his bones as a sweet little last reminder of the day. Morning at the garage and afternoon with Mia, then the increasingly easy tumble into their bed that hasn't yet stopped being surprising even as it becomes more familiar.

 

Dom tugs lightly on Brian's hair and shifts again, so whatever little space might have remained between them closes up to touching skin. "I think you should tell me what's going in that head of yours."

 

The only thing Brian has ever gotten wrong about Dom was expecting him to not push. Not that Dom's ever been the kind to step back and let thing lie, but that's with cars and people's own stupidity causing problems. Brian doesn't deal with emotions unless he has to and neither does Dom, really, but he doesn't let shit go when he senses it's important. It still catches Brian off-guard and he closes his eyes against the consideration in Dom's stare.

 

"I keep expecting something to go wrong," Brian says quietly. "I don't know, Dom. It doesn't always seem real."

 

"What doesn't seem real?"

 

Brian snorts and shifts, searching for a comfort he isn't missing in the bed. "All of it, you know? The house and the beach and the garage. Mia and Rome, and everyone else not running," he says, and then, "This," with a vague flip of his hand to encompass them both.

 

The mattress dips and creaks softly as Dom moves, pushing himself up and on top of Brian with his elbows braced on either side of Brian's neck and his hands curling around the top of Brian's head. Dom's palms press lightly to Brian's temples and his eyes are inscrutable and bled dark as the light fades away. The pressure of his weight doesn't make Brian feel trapped so much as anchored to world and he leaves his hands resting palm up on the bed.

 

"We're never going to be totally safe," Dom says flatly, and Brian almost huffs out an accidental laugh into his face, because Brian knows that. If he hadn't picked it up in the first eight weeks they knew each other when he tossed everything he'd ever wanted away for a man he didn't really know, he'd have a gotten an inkling in Mexico or Rio.

 

"Got that," Brian says, a little flippantly.

 

"No," Dom says and his fingers tighten hard in Brian's hair. "No, I mean it. There's no place we can run to where the rest of the world doesn't exist. That's what it would take, to be that kind of safe. Here, this place, it's better than most, you know? But there are other people around and there are ways for people to get here. There's always the chance."

 

"I know," Brian says, softer.

 

"I'll do everything I can," Dom promises. There's weight behind it, and a sense of responsibility that means something to Dom that it wouldn't to most people. Brian can pinpoint the heaviness to Jesse dying, a thousand years and three times as many miles ago. When protecting people stopped being a theoretical thing. "To keep this all safe. But who knows? Our friend Hobbs could show up tomorrow."

 

Brian flinches at that. When he's lying on his deathbed, he knows with total certainty that one of the things he will absolutely remember is Dom holding the wrench over the agent's head with that mindless, vicious fury in his eyes, and the cold feeling in his stomach that he was about to see another man die in a spray of bullets. "I think he liked you," Brian says, pushing the memory away. "At the end."

 

"Doesn't matter," Dom says. "And it's not the point. I can't guarantee shit, Brian. But this, right now, is more than I ever thought I'd have."

 

There isn't anything Brian could say that wouldn't sound wrong coming out of his mouth. Whatever they have, it exists in part because neither of them try to couch it in words, because Brian has always found that defining something limits it. He doesn't think he could say anything without it seeming like he wanted concessions and admissions from Dom and Dom floating even more than Brian in unfamiliar waters. Just like always, it comes back around to those first times when they were so punch-drunk nothing seemed real but quarter mile stretches and the things they did when the lights went out.

 

Brian wraps his arms around Dom and reaches up to press their mouths together. Dom resists for an instinctual moment, because he can't know what Brian's thinking or taking away from his words that circle around what he really means. He waits to trust Brian's reaction as understanding rather than impatience or distraction. But he does give, like they learned to do with each other. It's always been a little hard, with neither of them being used to surrendering ground for anything.

 

Dom's hands slide down to cup Brian's jaw. His thumbs flutter over the pulse points nestled up behind the bone and he presses, just a little. Dom likes to feel the involuntary signs of life beneath Brian's skin. It's his own seeking of assurances that he won't blink and find it all disappeared.

 

"Okay?" Dom asks when they pull apart.

 

Brian and says, "Okay."


End file.
